did you know i found god at 12?
at least i thought i did.
all i really discovered was ************ like
every other 12 year old.
i wanted you to know that.
i don't know why.
i think i want you to know all of my secrets.
secret number one:
i'm half drunk.
not actually a secret but the truth.
in a post-apocalyptic world you would be mine,
curled together forever in some oak tree cave
in Connecticut during fall.
i would fall asleep in orange leaves with
your head in my neck.
i could never have that.
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
come on, Natalie,
there's a heart in there somewhere.
we watched "Moulin Rouge"
and you begged me to sing to you.
now, five years later, i'm sorry.
i know i missed your wedding,
but i just couldn't bring myself to watch
you give yourself to someone else.
you called me during the reception
wanting me to **** you in the church kitchen.
that was the nicest thing you ever did.
now i can hate you.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 11:15 AM UTC
for all those guys whose girlfriends i took,
however brief.
and for the guys who got the girls after me,
because i'm sure that wasn't pretty.
they were typing papers,
so i'll write them off as not trying hard enough.
i'm probably better than them at a lot of things,
but honestly, that's not important;
it's how you present yourself.
i've got that part down pat.
there are too many to count,
too many names to remember,
it's not worth the trouble.
i'm not sorry anyway.
but i'll bet they are.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 1:03 AM UTC
and here's what i want from you.
I want you coming to me and running
away as fast as i can.
at the intersection of Denver and Archer,
the purple glow of lights and the steam
billowing from manhole covers
reminds me of you.
the striped sheets I'm in now
once wrapped you up.
while you held yourself up on my chest and stained wood,
my eyes danced over your skin
making the journey new again.
hot coffee at 10 am leaves me running in place--
never getting anywhere.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
i loved you in the rain,
by the time the weather cleared,
i had forgotten you.
that's not kind,
but look at my state, darling.
the left winger's and right winger's
want my head.
i'd clip all the same,
but they'd fall all around me.
pity.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
i'm at the age where
i think everything i do is so **** creative
and the things i think and say are so insightful.
but they are.
mostly.
on occasion.
sometimes.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 7:53 PM UTC
"You're looking fit," she said, the words sliding off her tongue.
"Thanks. So are you."
It was a cold walk up to the oak door
and my nose was red from the wind.
Sun Meadow. That was her neighborhood.
A little optimistic for my taste.
Five, maybe six, people I graduated with lived on her street.
"Where are your parents?"
"Cayman Islands. They usually go somewhere tropical
after the holidays. I would've gone, but work... you know."
"Yup. No time for fun."
"You wanna smoke hookah?"
"Sure. What flavor?"
"Don't be silly; house mix, always."
She loved the "house mix."
It was a slightly overbearing concoction
of apple, banana, and melon flavored tobacco.
I ran my hand through my hair to dissolve the snow.
Her mom was an interior decorator, so I was surrounded
by obscure, obnoxious, and expensive trinkets from
God knows where.
I sat on a bar stool and watched her make the bowl.
Her moves had gone from graceful to inept
just as she had gone from goddess to **** in my mind.
She set the hookah on the bar and inhaled.
Then it was my turn.
It went on like that for five minutes or so
as she looked me up and down.
Every once in a while she would lick her lips
or lean forward to expose even just a centimeter more of her *******
"So who's the new ****
"Beg your pardon?"
"You heard me," she spat.
"My left or my right, depending on how many notes
I've taken that day."
"Ha ha, very funny. How long's that been the case?"
"A week or two. Maybe three," I quip.
"Restless yet?"
"That's all I've ever been."
Ashley was never tactful.
She showed her hand too fast, but she
bet so little it made no difference.
She was also never virginal.
People often romanticize their first time with stories
of secret escapes or innocent awkwardness.
I was never like that and Ashley appreciated the monstrous
control and possessiveness I wrapped around my *****
I took what I wanted, she told me.
She liked that, I guess.
She knew a couople girls I had been with--
they'd shared their "stories" with her.
Stories of how I'd ripped the innocence from them,
the thrill,
the wall slamming,
screaming,
cursing,
the painful entrance,
strength,
weakness,
and finally
the out-of-breath finish
where I left them feeling like rag dolls.
Or so I'm told.
She liked that.
Craved it, even.
So, I let her have it.
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
My arrogance takes many forms.
The smirk sliding across my face.
The unabashed eye contact across the table.
I've got weapons and no end in sight.
Peeling away your skin and reaping the fruits of my labor.
I'm always proud to know when I'm right,
except for the times when I wish I was wrong.
I don't even have to open my eyes to know when you're lying.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
i was never one for the dramatics.
mostly, i just drank in the corner and watched the stage.
had the uppers and the droppers and the
speakers boomed all night in my ear.
i churned out lines left and right.
saw the virginal girls with filthy minds slip
out of their ******* and onto my lap-- that was all right.
they were good ***** i'll give them that.
i could have done without seeing their faces.
maybe that's cold.
**** it.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
No girl in high school broke my heart
except for Alexis.
We weren't involved or anything.
I would run into her occasionally at parties
or in the hallway between classes.
Alexis was "that girl."
Alexis slept with your boyfriend
or girlfriend.
She slept around, sideways,
inside, upside down, and backwards.
Red hair, pearly whites, manicured nails,
she took care of herself.
Mostly because no one else would.
Senior year. Anatomy and Physiology. Mrs. Livingood.
We sat next to each other.
We were partners for every project.
Every day, Alexis would come into class
and I would see the look in her eye.
The same de-sensitized, drained emptiness.
Most girls giggled or gazed at the naked human form--
at least a remark or two.
My new friend seemed tired of skin,
panting,
beds,
the dark.
It wasn't until Spring that I saw an altercation.
Tyler, a senior himself, had been sleeping with Alexis.
At this point, I gave a deaf ear to the rumors,
but at 7:36 a.m. on the third Thursday in March,
I got out of my car to see Alexis being pushed out
of a green truck's passenger door.
She tumbled to the ground in her bra and *******
with scratches on her back and a *****
crashing into her head.
I walked over to her, picked her up,
slammed the door on Tyler's ankle
and carried her to the bathroom.
I went to the band room, got some of my extra clothes
and brought them to her.
My red Adidas shorts hung off of her and my
"Tulsa Soccer Club" shirt had sleeves too long.
She cried into 2nd hour.
It was the most emotion I'd ever seen her show.
I think it was at that point I began to loathe society.
I hated the **** where the girls looked empty in the eyes.
I hated the "lose-your-virginity-in-high-school-to-your-first-love" stereotype.
I hated my friends, who called her a ****
I hated myself for not breaking in to her in time.
I hated every boy who climbed in a girl's window, and vice versa.
I hated that I couldn't change their minds.
I hated every person who slept with whoever I was going to end up with.
I hated the people I had slept with.
I hated the drugs.
I hated teenage romance.
I hated my age.
Alexis and I were never in like or love or lust
or whatever the hell.
Still, I took her on a date.
Dinner, coffee, comedy show, and a party.
We held hands-- mostly because I wanted her to know
that innocence again.
I didn't feel her up, I didn't kiss her, I didn't put my hand on her thigh.
I took her home and watched a movie with her family.
I didn't look when she changed clothes.
I hugged her goodbye and that was the end of it.
She told me I gave her the only respect she'd ever gotten.
I told her to say **** you" instead of doing it.
She smiled.
Today she's a single mom.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC